Of All My Fears
by stargaza
Summary: Saw this picture on facebook and my mental authors started writing. If John Watson had to face a boggart, what would his greatest fear be?


**AN: Saw a picture on facebook, and I thought: PERFECT FANFICTION! So here you go! Enjoy!**

Of All My Fears

John felt nervous as he stepped cautiously towards the wardrobe.

Of his 3 years spent at Hogwarts, he had never been more terrified of what lay behind that mahogany door. Professor Lupin said boggarts were harmless, but he didn't understand what fear could do to a person.

He had seen everyone's fears: Spiders, clowns, Professor Snape, and yet, he couldn't possibly think of what his greatest fear was.

His best friend, Sherlock from the Ravenclaw House, had been encouraging him all class. "Man up John! Your greatest fear is probably getting a F in History of Magic!" John had only smiled at that, knowing his words were lies. As a Gryffindor, he knew he probably shouldn't be scared of a petty boggart, yet his fear was like ice, starting in his heart and spreading to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

At least Sherlock was there for him. Sherlock was his best friend. He was brilliant, cold, and yet kind. During their first year, he caught Sherlock trying to break his way into the Gryffindor common room. How he knew it was the Fat Lady, John had no idea. Sherlock was mumbling to himself, something about, "scientific deduction," and "mind palaces." John had simply walked up to the Fat Lady and whispered the portrait, gaining entry. Sherlock had stared at him with a pout on his face. Sherlock had even tried to follow him in! John had simply chuckled and asked, "What's your name?"

"Why is my name of any importance?" Sherlock had retorted.

"So I can report you."

"I don't think you would really do that."

John had only shrugged, replying, "You have two more strikes."

Sherlock had grinned madly. "Sherlock Holmes, pleasure to meet you, John Hamish Watson." He sauntered back down the hall. "But how did you…?!" John had called back to him, before simply sighing and entering the common room.

Their friendship had only blossomed from there.

Sure John had friends in Gryffindor like Mike and Greg, but none of them were like Sherlock. Sherlock had snuck out with him late at night when he wanted to study the giant squid closer. John had defended Sherlock when Sally and Anderson from Slytherin made fun of Sherlock. They were there always there for each other.

He was pulled out of his reverie by Professor Lupin asking, "John? Are you ready?" I simply nodded, not trusting my voice to hide the rising terror I was feeling. Lupin pointed his wand at the dresser, and the door swung open with a slight creak.

A body fell out.

John started to tremble as he identified who it was. His caved in head was full of curly black hair matted with blood. His eyes were ice blue and wide, full of fear and shock. His pale face was covered in blood and tears, still fresh. John could feel his own tears on his cheeks.

The body was Sherlock's.

He didn't even notice when he fell to his knees on the hard wood floor. He was unable to stop staring at the mangle, gory body of Sherlock. Everything was silent, and yet his insides were screaming. Sherlock can't be dead.

John's hands were shaking so hard, it was a miracle he was still clutching his wand. His whole body was pounded with wave after wave of ice and fire and regret. A muffled voice to his left, Sherlock. "John!" Sherlock pleaded. "John, listen to me!"

John couldn't focus, his gaze kept turning back to the corpse on the ground. Sherlock grabbed his face and turned it towards him. "John, focus! I'm alive, that body is only an illusion. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock's words were lost on John. It was like everything else was blurry. His vision was only filled with ice, blood, and tears. His chest racked with sobs.

"John!" Sherlock begged. "Just say the spell.

John had forgotten about the spell. He couldn't even think he could open his mouth to utter one syllable, much less one spell. "I-" He stuttered. "I can't."

Sherlock was softly crying now. "Yes you can. All you have to do, is say 'Riddikulus'."

John turned towards the body once more. He summoned the last of his strength to lift his arm, pointing his wand at the illusion, and muttering, "Riddikulus."

He never saw what it turned in to. He simply collapsed into Sherlock's arms, bawling his eyes out. Sherlock held him tightly, stroking his hair and speaking comforting words. "John, look at me." He pulled John away, holding him by his shoulders. "I'm ok. You will never see me like that ever again. I promise." The smaller boy simply nodded as Sherlock pulled him close again, hanging on like he never intended to ever let go.

_23 years later…_

John pushed through the thick crowd, straining to see the damage. He yelled hoarsely, "Let me through! I'm a doctor! I'm his friend!" His voice broke as he added, "Let me through, please!" As he laid his eyes on Sherlock, he felt the familiar ice fill his hear. As he rushed to his side, he observed the caved-in head, the matted, bloody hair, the wide, blue eyes. He choked as he remembered. Sobbing, John cradled his head.

"Never again. You promised never again."


End file.
